


the laundry platonics

by softswans



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: F/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, platonic partners who platonically do each other's laundry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 20:36:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14922401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softswans/pseuds/softswans
Summary: in which jordan virtue buys tessa a pair of nike briefs with 'just lick it' across the front, scott does tessa's laundry, platonically, and they're both in love with each other, romantically.





	the laundry platonics

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anakinleias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anakinleias/gifts), [gracesvirtue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracesvirtue/gifts), [fillthesilence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fillthesilence/gifts).



> this is my first time writing (+ publishing!!!! yay me) fic longer than 300 words in literal years, so pls be gentle. comments would legit make my whole day u can tell me how u feel there (pls do lol im desperate for feedback)
> 
> this basically stemmed from seeing one of my mutuals tweet a pic of the nike underwear and i was like lol can u imagine tessa having those, which developed into this, but not without help from rebecca @gracesvirtue, cait @fillthesilence & carol @anakinleias, you are all angels and i love you.
> 
> (here's a link to them if u want to visualise https://wanelo.co/p/34769889/just-lick-it-thong )

He wasn’t completely sure when it had become a routine, doing each other’s laundry. Sometime after moving to Montréal together, but before they’d chosen Satine and Christian to be their swan song, he supposes. There wasn’t really a rule to it, no real rules or set structure. It generally depended on the week in question, whoever had the time to spare, which didn’t always happen. Sometimes they’d do it together; he’d iron, she’d fold. Other times, they’d just trade off, one picking up the slack while the other made sure they both had food in their fridges, or ensuring the relevant preparation was ready for whatever they’d planned to do in the coming week. It had worked well for them, almost coming together naturally, there wasn’t generally a need to vocalise it— it just happened. That thought itself made him smile, but then again, most regarding Tessa usually did.

 

He lets his mind drift off as he sorts through their shared basket— it’s easier to share when they do each other’s more often than their own, no it’s not weird, thank you Patrick, thinking absently about whether he really wants eggs for dinner or if he should just step in and actually make something that has more than just three colours, the plate included. This week, she’d loaded the washer, so it was his turn to sort and iron. It’s easy to fall into a routine, recognising articles of clothing he’s seen Tessa in during the previous week and cataloguing them in his mind, remembering the scarf she’d worn with a particular Adidas hoodie, or the jeans she’d worn when they went for coffee together at that place she likes on Thursday. So when his eyes fall on the phrase ‘Just Lick It’, he pauses. He doesn’t remember wearing anything with a slogan like that, lick _what_ exactly, he wonders? And he certainly can’t recall Tessa sporting it, because he knows he would have had to say _something -_ he can think of at least three jokes already that would have made her laugh, so. There’s that _._ His brain nearly short circuits when he actually picks the offending piece of clothing up and realises it’s a pair of underwear. Tessa’s underwear, if he’s being exact about it. With ‘Just Lick It’ emblazoned on the front, sitting on top of the Nike swoosh as proud as you please.

 

He tries to move on, he swears he does, tries his absolute very best to just stop thinking about them, Tessa’s underwear is none of his business. The harder he tries to actively _not_ think about them, though, the more he seems to overthink the whole situation to the nth degree. Tessa is, after all, an athlete, so by nature of her job, and the fact she spend more hours a week either in a gym or the rink than the average Canadian, a big fan of sportswear. Athleisure, really. For… leisurely activities? He tries to move on, dropping them into her pile and vigorously searching for a sock to match the one he’d picked up in his haste to distract himself. Besides, Tessa’s underwear is none of his business anyways. It’s completely her own prerogative if she’s wearing them for someone. Is she wearing them for someone? He freezes for a second; does she want him to know this? He wonders if this some sort of weird test where he’s supposed to say something, for just a moment, he entertains the thought that she put them in there on purpose, and she wanted him to see them. This thought moves on as swiftly as the next one crashes through his mind, as unwanted and confusing as the last; if she _did_ put them in on purpose, and he says something, what even is he supposed to say? Or perhaps he’s just letting his mind run circles around him and she hadn’t in fact, assumed he would notice them, and that raising the subject of them would just open another can of worms. Aggressively balling the newly paired sock with its partner and dropping it in its designated pile, he redirects his efforts to trying to distract himself, listing Leafs scores from the previous season in his head to occupy his thoughts that just seem to flow unbidden, all of them regarding Tessa and a pair of Nike briefs with ‘Just Lick It’ on the front.

 

Later, when he does decide to make dinner for the two of them (Tessa grins sheepishly and kisses him on the cheek when he volunteers, because of course she does.), he’s still mentally stuck between actively trying his very best to Not Think About the Laundry Situation, (and maybe the fact that the whole ordeal already has a code name in his mind should indicate it’s not something he’ll forget over the course of the week until something new and Tessa shaped grabs his attention.), and overthinking the implications of the entire thing. He’s still debating over whether he should bring them up, maybe as a joke, casually, not at all like it’s been a huge point of internal mind gymnastics for him over the past day. In the end, it’s not at all on purpose that he ends up ruining what could have been a very lovely dinner between himself and Tessa when she asks him, just as she’s finished her b2ten approved dinner, has he seen a top of hers, one that’s purple apparently, and she swears she saw it when she loaded the machine that morning but can’t seem to find it now. She’s in the middle of describing it to him when his mouth decides to bypass that handy part of the brain that’s supposed to make him filter what he says or whatever— Tessa probably knows what it’s called anyways, she’s smart like that.

 

“I saw your pants,” He says, and it comes out more as a hurried mumble than anything else, he can’t even bring himself to meet her eye properly, and god— isn’t that just a great way to broach a topic? _Well done, Scott. Idiot._

 

And Tessa, to her credit, doesn’t get up and walk away from him like any sane person would. She laughs, an easy sound, tilting her head to the side. “Well yeah, that’s usually how laundry works, or have I been doing that domestic task wrong too?”

 

“No— Tess, T, I swear I wasn’t like… _looking,_ I just— they were, I dunno,—” And she cuts him off before he can find another way to mess up whatever sentence is currently trying to force its way out of his stupid, traitorous mouth.

 

“Scott, hey, look at me,” And he does. Her voice has softened just a little, the laughter gone from her tone. He wonders if his internal meltdown is obvious from the outside, “Take a breath, what do you mean, you saw my pants? I’m pretty sure you know just about everything I own at this stage.”

 

She really doesn’t know what he’s talking about, what he’s currently trying to articulate in a way that won’t make him sound like an absolute creep who reads the front of his platonic skating partner slash best friend’s underwear when it’s his turn to do their laundry. And that’s really just, super wonderful. He’s going to have to say it now, and wave goodbye to Tessa ever looking at him like he’s a normal, completely not weird guy.

 

“The… the Nike ones, T.” She tilts her head, confused. Even now, in this situation that he just wants to disappear from, he finds the crease in her brow nothing short of endearing.

 

“Withjustlickitonthefront,” And he says it so fast, that he can see the split second before she understands what he’s said, and he knows he’s done the wrong thing by bringing it up because her eyes go wide in that _oh shit_ way of hers, and the grip she has on the fork she’s holding slackens and it hits the plate in front of her with a deafening clatter, effectively breaking the silence that had descended over the pair of them. Always in sync, forever together; they almost trip over each other in their haste to get their words out.

 

“No, Scott— it’s not that I—“

 

“I’m sorry Tess, I know it’s not my business—”

 

“I didn’t think—”

 

“I swear, I don’t casually read your—“

 

“I mean, I wasn’t wearing them on purpose—”

 

“Because like, you know, you’re free to wear whatever you want, obviously. For, um, anybody.”

 

Then she pauses. If he thought she looked confused earlier, she’s nothing short of lost now.

 

“No, Scott. I’m not— they’re not… they were a gift, from Jordan. She, I dunno, as a gift? She thought it’d be funny, I guess. Honestly I didn’t, I hadn’t thought about them in forever. I’m not, I’m not wearing them for— I’m not wearing them for someone.” Her voice is steady, clear, but he sees the way she’s twisting her hands, notices how her words are clipped, and his chest hurts. God, he’s made this so awkward. The famous Virtue and Moir, Canada’s sweethearts, Olympic champions, foiled by a pair of underwear.

 

Her face goes red then, and he realises she’s verging into rambling territory. He knows he should stop her, but in a really quite unfortunate turn of events, the mouth he couldn’t keep shut earlier is having trouble making any kind of sound now.

 

“I mean, I think she thought— I don’t know, it was supposed to be some sort of early Valentine’s Day gift, in case, in case—“ and she stops then, cutting herself off, blushing furiously and now she’s the one who can’t meet his eye.

 

“In case what?” He asks her, and he’s curious now, because Jordan always does give the best gag gifts.

 

“She, um, well. She said they were, they were in case you needed some encouragement.” She laughs then, but it’s not the same as before. It’s shrill, and he can tell she’s uncomfortable, her voice unsure.

 

Hold on.

 

“She what now?” His voice cracks halfway through his sentence and he’d be embarrassed if it wasn’t for the confusion he was currently swimming in. Encouragement? Right. Okay. What now?

 

Tessa visibly takes a deep breath, he can see a resigned determination in the way she squares her shoulders and fiddles with the ring on her finger, still not really meeting his eye. When she does speak, her voice has an odd tone to it, one he’s not completely familiar with. He’s almost too focused on the way her words are shaking with what he recognises as nerves (not that he understands why on earth she’s nervous about a pair of underwear when he’s the one who’s just made things awkward for the pair of them, and isn’t it just so like her to put whatever this is on herself, rather than acknowledging this as another Huge, Colossal, Quite Big, Massive Fuck up courtesy of Scott Moir, Canadian hero.)

 

“She has this idea, honestly, I’ve told her it’s ridiculous, I swear— she just likes to think we’re both secretly into each other, and we’re too scared to do anything about it, or something. I don’t know, I mean, I wasn’t thinking about that when I wore them, honestly!” Her voice morphs into something more earnest when she reaches the tail end of her little speech, but if he’s being honest with himself, he’s finding it just a little bit hard to focus.

 

Or something.

 

Or something?

 

 _Or something_ , is right. Definitely ‘or something’. Does being in love with your best friend and wanting to know what her smiles look like in the morning on the pillow beside you and secretly imagining buying a house together and doing sappy things like gardening together and kissing each other hello and goodbye on the cheek every morning count as ‘or something’?

 

Scott hears something resembling a squeak across from him, and he’s jolted from his internal tailspin. When he looks up, Tessa’s eyes are wide and her usual bright green has dulled to a much more downcast shade. He realises with a pang that the emotion on her face now is hurt. It’s not even there for more than half a second before she schools her features into something more neutral, but he catches it. He always does.

 

“Yeah, or something, I guess,” Tessa shrugs. Oh. Did he say that out loud? Three whole times? _Jeez Moir, get a grip._

 

And, oh.

 

 _Oh_.

 

Now he gets it.

 

“No, Tess, I didn’t mean that,” He stumbles over what he wants to say to her now, because he doesn’t think he could bear Tessa not knowing just how important she is to him, how much more she is than just _something_. Fuck, she’s everything.

 

“I didn’t mean to _say_ that-” He corrects himself, but she jumps in, not willing to hear the potential love of her life tell her in detail how he just doesn’t think of her like that, tell her how she’s a great friend, but not one in the particular spend-the-rest-of-your-lives-together vein.

 

“Scott, it’s fine,” Her voice is soft, quiet in a way he’s not sure of. “It was a silly gift, honestly. I know she was being ridiculous, I’m sorry.”

 

And he just can’t really help himself. “Ridiculous? Tessa, she’s your sister. She’s known both of us literally forever. It’s not all that unbelievable that she’d, um, think that about us. I’m crazy about you, T. Not just in the, _oh, my best friend is crazy gorgeous and kind to a fault and everything you could ever want in a partner_ way, in the _oh shit, I’m in love with you and I want you to be my best friend for life_ , way.”

 

“You’re in love with me?” Her voice trembles on the third word and he feels his heart twist in his chest. If their friendship had been salvageable before, he’s definitely ruined it now, but there’s a burning _need_ deep in his bones to tell her. He’s nothing if not honest with her, the one person in the world who knows him better than anybody else (himself included) ever could. He nods, making eye contact now- she deserves that, deserves a whole lot more than he could ever offer her, but here he is, declaring his heart as hers.

 

“Oh. Okay, um,” She pauses for a second, and then it’s like her face just clears, as if she’s had a sudden revelation, like someone’s just explained the laws of the universe to her and made it so she can understand. Suddenly the two years of their comeback make sense, the way she smiles at him over her coffee at 7am slots into a different Tessa folder in his head, and he’s not sure he’s imagining the sparkling of wetness in her eyes that matches the shy, easy grin on her face;

 

“Me too,” She laughs a little bit, and they’re both crying now, there’s no denying it. He stands up from his chair to move around the table, and he marvels at the way she still moves into his arms in a way that’s always been effortless for them. When their breathing falls into sync, he feels a certain peace, and he knows his heart was always made to be held by hers.

 

\---

 

And the next time she wears them, Scott takes his time to leisurely read the slogan printed on the front with his tongue, before nodding to himself, repeating the words out loud and doing just as instructed.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are most welcome, come yell @ me on twitter about the platonics, i go by the same handle (softswans!) 
> 
> also this is all mostly unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine!


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